


Excerpts from the Archives

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background stories, Gen, I'm writing it for me anyway .:p, Mostly because people apparently don't like the fic so I'll pick it up again when I feel inspired, ON EXTENDED HIATUS, fictional flotsam I guess, oneshots, stuff I can't figure out how to turn into full fledged stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5714272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short one-shots and character sketches I've written for my Remli!Inquisitor universe. Many of these are centered around Archivist Banon himself (as seen in my ongoing fic, By the Book), although I'll be adding writing prompts, doodle/prompt combos, etc about others, too. Really, this is more or less all of the stuff that doesn't warrant a standalone oneshot.</p><p>I'll flag any stories that might have warnings at the start, but let me know if you want me to tag anything else in them, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Codex Entry: Archivist Banon

A small folio of papers from the personal archives of the Inquisitor, filed under "Skyhold-- personnel." A note in a graceful hand is attached to the top of the folio:

_Inquisitor--_

_Given my current investigation into his mage status, I've requested the Archivist to relate the events leading up to his arrival at our fortress. Please see the following account of his entry to the local circle, as transcribed by Helisma per my instructions. For the record, my contacts have been able to confirm everything he has told us so far, and I would like to advise you once again that we brought him to the keep under my authority. If Madame de Fer has further complaints against our archivist, please have her address me directly to avoid further confrontation._

_\-- Leliana_

The contents of the folio, penned in a small, neat script of unerring accuracy reads as follows:

 

Research had always been his true calling. Even as a young boy, he’d been drawn to the scent of books, and fascinated by the mysteries hidden within the various iterations of letters and symbols inked to a page. At first, it was the fascination of the illiterate—no elf from the Alienage would have the money needed to attend a decent school, not one that would show him more than the basics of Trade and simple arithmetic.

His parents had assured him that there was more to life than books, and that an affineur’s job was an important one. But there had to be more to life than stinky curds and reels of cheese—he knew that there must be something he could do to learn more to the world!

How often had he watched the mages of his town’s Circle ply their craft, healing the wounded and assisting with wards on buildings? How many nights had he gone to the temple of Andraste, praying to her, beseeching the Maker? Most would beg for magic to pass them by, but Bastien, he coveted the opportunities it could bring. There had not been a mage in his family for several generations, not even through extended family. Surely they were overdue!

And perhaps that was what ultimately how the odds worked into his favor, the eventual switch in the blood that gave him that little pulse of magic. Or perhaps it had come from his attempts to mimic what he saw the mages of the town do, emulating the motions they used to gently tug on the Veil and bend magic to their will.

Whatever it was, Bastien was certain that Andraste had had a hand in his ascent to magedom, for had she not called an Elvhen mage her closest friend in the mortal realm? No doubt the Maker himself had been watching the day that Bastien was asked to man the front of the store.

It was a simple enough job, even for a young sprout at the tender age of eight. He had a stool behind the counter so that he could see over it to speak with customers, and most of the time he was there just to indicate that they were, in fact, open. They had a few regulars stop in, servants of the local nobles who loved the delicate flavors of the Banon’s cheese. (He’d always found the pungent odor repulsive, but who was he, a simple cheesemaker’s son, to know what a cultured taste might find delectable?) His father was usually just beyond the door in the back room, easily summoned if there was a need.

But on that fateful day, his father had stepped out to run an errand, telling Bastien to help anyone who came to the best of his abilities, and to let them know that Master Banon would be back soon to assist them. This is where the Maker stepped in and guided Bastien’s future.

It was a Templar woman who visited the shop, an unfamiliar face for a customer, but she’d been about the town long enough. Bastien recognized her as one of the people tasked with guarding the healers—she even helped set bones when they needed additional hands to assist in the work. She did not smile often, but neither did she shout or raise a hand against those undeserving of her anger.

As it was, she offered him a kindly look—not quite a smile, but a softening of the features, something to make her appearance less frightening to a young child. She was not fully garbed in armor that day, apparently running errands on her day off. She walked up to the counter without preamble tapped her fingers on the wooden surface.

“I am looking for a cheese that would go well with fresh fruit and bread,” she said mildly, looking at him as though he was an idle curiosity in the shop. “Is there someone here who might be able to assist me with the selection?”

Bastien had looked up at her, giving her his most charming smile. On his father, it was a professional, friendly grin. On a young boy, it no doubt seemed precocious. He waved to the selection of cheeses on the shelf immediately behind him, indicating the wheels and wedges of different sizes.

“My father will return shortly. However, I will be happy to assist you in any way that I can, my lady,” he recited, remembering the words his mother used when she stood behind the counter. “Many of our wares might work. Was there a particular fruit or bread you were thinking of?”

This did earn a bit of a smile, a quick quirk of the lips as she gave him a new, appraising look. “His favorite fruit is apples,” she said, indulging him in his role as temporary shop keep. Bastien frowned, very serious, and scratched his chin the way his brother did when considering a tricky sale.

“Apples aren’t coming off the trees for a few months,” he said, trying to think of what she might want. “We have some cheeses that might work. Most of the ones that go with apples go bad after a few weeks. Does he like anything else?”

She laughed, leaning against the wood. “He’s fond of raspberries as well. Those are in season now, are they not?” she asked, a gentle tease in her voice. He beamed at her, nodding appreciatively.

“Yes, my lady!” he replied, jumping off of his stool. “And there are several cheeses that might work. Please give me a moment to get them.”

He scrambled over to the shelf, picking up a few of the sample wedges his mother had prepared that morning. They didn’t have any berries on hand (hence his father’s errand), but the thin slices of bread might suffice for the moment. He carefully set the samples down on the tray, and then held it aloft, sliding it onto the counter before scrambling back onto his stool.

“You may want to try these. Pa is getting fruit, so if you don’t mind waiting you can try with that, too.” He slid the tray towards her, giving her his most professional smile.

“Thank you, good ser,” she said solemnly, giving the tray a careful look, but not touching any of the samples. She gave him a conspiratorial look. “Are there any flavors that you recommend out of these?”

He immediately pointed to one of the pale, soft cheeses. “This one is the least stinky,” he said truthfully. Then he carefully repeated what his parents had told him, time and time again. “I have not yet ripened to an age where I can appreciate a well-seasoned wheel.”

She laughed again, taking up the sample and biting into it with a bit of bread. Her eyes lit up at the taste, and she nodded in approval, licking her lips as she finished the morsel.

“I think you are right, good ser,” she said, daintily wiping her mouth with her thumb. “I would like a wedge of that, I think.”

“You don’t want to try any of the others?” he asked, looking at his carefully sorted sample tray. She patted his head, giving him a conspiratorial smile.

“Giving someone a wedge of stinky cheese is not a very nice birthday present, is it?”

They shared a laugh, at that, and then Bastien hesitated, wondering where his father was. There must have been some hold up at the market, perhaps he’d stopped to chat with a friend. Normally there was little traffic into the shop, so why would he need to hurry back?

Except that the wedge of cheese in question was just above his reach, even on the stool. He could ask the woman to try to reach it for him, but that was hardly professional, and he didn’t think his pa would approve of a customer coming behind the counter. He could run off into the back to look for his ma or brother, but that would leave the front of the shop unmanned.

He straightened his spine and nodded. “Please give me a minute and I will get it for you.”

He hopped off the stool, scooted it back against the shelf, and clambered on top of it, fingers stretching out for the wheel. To his surprise, he found that he could just reach it, and when his fingers brushed against the rind, it rolled towards him, falling into his hand. He carefully lowered himself from the precarious position and placed the wheel on the counter before moving the stool back in place.

When he took up his perch again, the woman was giving him the most peculiar look. Her eyes narrowed, her expression looking as though she’d just watched him stand on a wheel of cheese with dirty feet and she wanted to call him out on it. He blushed, embarrassed.

“My da usually has to get it for me,” he admitted, reaching under the counter to find the supplies to prepare the wedge for her. “How much did you want to get?”

The woman still hadn’t answered him or stopped giving him that odd look. Bastien felt more and more like he’d done something wrong, and he squirmed under that look. Fortunately, that was when his pa returned, a basket of fruit tucked under one arm. The man smiled at the sight of the customer, although a brief flash of worry crossed his face at the woman’s expression. He patted Bastien on the head and subtly put himself between the child and the Templar.

“Thank you for your patience while I stepped out, my lady,” he said, giving her his most winning smile. “I hope Bastien here did not talk your ear off while you waited, he’s a bit too chatty for his own good.”

The woman’s gaze was still fixed on the boy, and Bastien shrunk against his father’s side, trembling a little. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant that look, but his da would get her to leave. Master Banon cleared his throat, which at last caught the woman’s attention once again.

“Was there something in particular you were looking for?” he asked, voice a bit tighter than before. The woman smiled, straightening a little so that her hand could rest on the pommel of her sword.

“Aye,” she said, waving her free hand to the wheel that Bastien had fetched. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and your young sprout suggested that. However, it looks like I’ll be taking more than I bargained for back with me. The mageling will be coming with me as well.”

“Mageling,” his father repeated in a cool, unquestioning tone. He turned his gaze to his youngest son, and Bastien suddenly had the feeling that it might be safer to cling to the Templar’s skirts instead. The Templar raised her hand, and when she spoke, she--

 

_The remaining folio pages are missing._


	2. Let It Grow

 

“It’s alright,” said Cole, leaning close to the wall to whisper reassurances. “I slipped between to come here, too. It’s nice here.”

“Cole, who are you speaking to?” called the Inquisitor, noticing that he’d wandered off while she spoke to Morrigan. The spirit gestured to his conversation partner, a small cluster of delicate flowers that broke through the mortar between two of the window’s stones. The Inquisitor crouched down to admire them. “Can you communicate with flowers?”

“They’re not… not like people or animals, but there’s a whisper of a thought. Seeds carry on the wind, the tremble of leaves as someone brushes past, the cool water and sturdy soil, up high. They’re not supposed to be here,” he finished, looking down again. He frowned, lips pursed. “They worry that someone will tear them up and throw them away.”

The Inquisitor pushed back the brim of his hat far enough so she could plant a gentle kiss on his forehead, then let it fall back into its customary position.

“I like them where they are,” she assured them, and lifted his chin with a few fingers. When he met her gaze, she smiled. “I am glad that they’re here, and I’ll make sure that everyone knows that they are not to be harmed.”

He flushed, ducking his head to hide his face, then turned back to study his new friends.

“They’re glad they came,” he said. “And so am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I forgot to post this here... months ago, whoops. Cross-post from a short fic/Doodle post on my writing blog! http://sirladysketch.tumblr.com/post/143144931643/its-alright-said-cole-leaning-close-to-the


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